Can't Go Back
by Don'tFeelLikeComingDown
Summary: She couldn't go back and maybe... Maybe that was okay? In which Daryl goes through with killing Randall and the farm is as safe as it can be in their walker filled world.


The air whistled through the cracks of the barn, the cool wind hitting his clammy skin in a way he'd find pleasant under any other circumstances. The place still, despite the open doors and breeze tonight, held a heavy sent of decay. Enough that he wanted to walk right out. Go back to his one man camp and kick back. Close his eyes and not deal with this. Not tonight. He was tired, more so then he cared to admit but _Christ. _He needed some damn sleep.

Randall's whimpering and it's enough to make him hesitate. It's enough that his head becomes a jumbled mess of 'what if's' and 'this is wrong's' warring with eachother. Randall's voice in his head echoing behind those whimpers telling him about the rapes and murders. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and remembering simpler days of following Merle's lead and doing whatever _he _said they were doing. Not what was right or what was wrong but what they wanted.

All he has is his knife and good ol' crossbow. His gun is missing and he suspects Carl Grimes has something to do with that. Tomorrow. The little things come tomorrow.

Knife is sharper. More likely to kill a man faster. The bolts he's been making lately could slice right threw a walker, a man he's not so sure of. He takes the blade from its leather case, every inch of it reminding him of the facts. He's never killed a man before. This one could put the group in danger. The others would hate him (they do anyway) but would begrudgingly keep him around, turning their noses up because they _couldn't _do it. Randall wasn't a man, he was a kid with the worst kind of influences.

It's all spinning in his head, some screaming louder than others, words raging to be heard. Thoughts that all need to be processed before such a big decision can be made. But he can't think about it anymore, it's cruel. To Randall and Daryl. It's cruel to drag the inevitable out.

His grip on the knife's handle tightens and he turns, grateful the blindfold is still covering Randall's eyes, wishing he was asleep and didn't know it was coming. Because he does, he must with all the noise he's making.

Daryl wishes he would just shut up and tell him it's okay, that he understands why he has to die. That it's a harsh way to go but at least it's the end.

His knuckles go white from his grip and he closes the distance, Randall in a full on panic.

He pokes the tip of his thumb with his knife, unsatisfied with the sharpness. It would take a lot of force to go through a skull. He's been taking care of his weapons but not for executions, only for when the adrenalin is riding through his veins and he's ready to fuck shit up.

Damn does he wish he had his gun.

He remembers when he was younger and him and Merle would fight. Rolling on the floor, his brother always much older and stronger than him always winning. A Saturday morning and they were at it again, Daryl pinned to the ground and Merle's saliva dangling just over his face as he struggled to get away, to do anything to avoid the force of gravity. Twisting and pushing up, hands finally freeing themselves from Merle's straddle and hitting his brother back, eventually going for his older brothers neck and for the first time in days (weeks?) hearing his mama's voice. Heavy and scratchy from all those cigarettes, tired from years of doing _nothing, _cutting through the boys fight.

"Never go for the neck unless ya wanna kill your brother." She'd said between puffs, legs kicked up and her reclining in the chair that usually belonged to their father. Merle and him pausing their fight. Their mama demanded very rarely, but when she did they listened.

He grabs Randall's hair, pulling him back and exposing his neck, the pulse there hammering. He's begging but Daryl blocks it out, the sharpest point of his knife cutting right through the jugular. There's blood pouring out, so much that his hands are covered instantly. He doesn't pull away though, one more stab to really severe things. To make sure Randall dies as fast as possible.

It's not over fast enough. In all of the struggling the blindfold fell off and Daryl sees it, the light leaving the boy's eyes as he slips away. All lifeless limbs falling awkwardly to the ground, blood still pouring freely. Daryl knows dead. He's seen it in the animals he's hunted since he was a kid, in the literal walking dead, and now in Randall.

He drops him to the ground along with his knife. He's not stupid and knows that weapon could very well save _his _life someday. But for now he doesn't want it anywhere near him. Doesn't want the slick handle anywhere near his shaking hands. He goes to the barn's walls, resting his forehead against the crack in the wall and welcoming the breeze in. He's sucking in deep breaths of fresh air but only getting remnants of the old rotting bodies that once stumbled around this place. Like Sophia.

He squeezes his eyes shut, wondering what Merle would say about all this. Probably would've done the job a lot sooner.

But there's always that tiny voice in the back of his head, his conscience supposedly, reminding him he wouldn't be here if Merle was still around, he'd probably be right there with Randall's people. Especially after their stolen goods ran out like they always did.

He's not sure how long he stands like that. Exhausted, shoulders heavy and the weight of the rotting world on his back, when he hears it. A slight and very gurgled groan partial to walkers. For one horrifying second he thinks Randall was still alive this whole time, suffering and drowning in his own blood. But he knows his walkers and that's exactly what he finds when he turns.

Trying to stand up on shaky legs like a newborn foal, head barely holding on. It's a sight he knows he'll see for the rest of his life, however long that is.

Freshly reanimated Randall is slow to the program and Daryl moves quickly, squatting down and grabbing his knife before killing the poor bastard for the second time in one night. It's easier than he expected it to be. Walkers were just easier to block out that way, when they were literally the monsters people feared growing up.

The body drops, crumbled on the ground with limbs twisted up and down, head smashed to bits and neck barely there. If Daryl was a praying man he'd be begging for forgiveness right about now.

There's blood on his hands that might as well be his.

* * *

She's in her own bed for the first time in a while. No longer confined to the downstairs guest bedroom she's back in the comfort of her four white walls, though she notices the absence of especially sharp objects. Her scissors, her old scrapbooking gear, her belts and scarves for goodness sake. Like she doesn't know where they must be hidden. Top shelf behind the box of junk in her parents closet. Where Christmas and Birthday presents are so skilfully hidden. And really? The farm is full of guns now. Andrea got it right, if she really wanted to die she could and would do it.

The sun is streaming in past the white curtains and there's the smell of cooking and voices and for one blissful second she can almost pretend that things are normal. She goes to drag her comforter above her head and curl up for another minute or so but the bandage wrapped around her wrist scrapes over the material and she's dragged back to reality.

Taking a deep breath she tosses back the comforter and slips out of bed, feet landing perfectly in her waiting slippers. The voices are nice to hear, so is the sun that's slowly moving further away as winter moves in. She'll miss the heat and dreads the work that will come this winter.

She hears yelling downstairs and immediately fears the worse, a feeling she knows is justified these days. She pulls on some jeans and throws a sweater over her tank top before running quickly down the halls she grew up in, old family photos hanging on the wall. Shawn's bedroom is still locked and they'll probably open it soon, with Rick's people moving in any day. She looks at the door sadly for a moment before rushing downstairs, slippers muffling her steps and years of living in the house helping her avoid the creeks in the floorboards.

"-murderer among us people! He was just a kid." Dale is yelling.

"I know and I hear you." Rick says, using what Beth assumes is his cop voice. "But let's think about this, try and be rational."

"Today it's Randall and tomorrow? Hmm, Rick? Who? Whoever gets in our way, causes a little trouble?"

"You need to calm down." Shane steps forward. Beth eyed him, remembering how he'd run up to that barn and-

She couldn't think about it. Not now, not when her wrist was throbbing so painfully. Her stomach falls, everything catching up to her as she realizes exactly what's going on here. There was a murder on her farm, her picturesque childhood home had become such a dangerous place. The once fertile soil that they made a living off of was soaked in blood now.

"Don't tell me to calm down. Now who did it?" Dale looks frantically at everybody around him as though to ask them each what they knew.

"Was me, Dale." A voice says across the room. All eyes shot over to him and Beth winces. She remembers him shooting her mama (and not doing a good job of it) and then his face when that little girl came out of the barn. He was just like her. Realizing that everything they'd hoped for, a healed family and a missing child, was gone for good. _None of it mattered. _Not anymore, anyway.

She looked away, catching sight one last time of his face. Walls up, not liking all of the attention on him.

She hears Dale yelling, voice scratchy and all semblance of rationality gone as he lays into the other man. Her wrist continues to throb, her pulse beating painfully beneath the white bandage. She double checks to be sure that the bandage is in fact white and not staining red. Sweat on her brow and a shakiness in her legs, she climbs silently up the stairs to her room. Any appetite she may have had long forgotten.

Closing the door behind her she moves quickly to the dresser resting just beside the window she's looked out her entire life. In frustration she grabs the silver framed photo, the one Otis and Patricia got for her some birthday's ago, along with her bible and long dead cell phone. Moving quickly across the room she pulls the closet door open and in a huff throws the once treasured items into a box full of old clothes she was going to donate _before._ The box is heavy on her sore wrist but she ignores it all, shoving the box in the furthest corner of her top shelf, quickly putting some inherited quilts in front of it all.

Her pink cell phone she once used constantly. The first stages of her relationship with Jimmy had been through a screen, staring at it minutes at a time just waiting for him to text her. The bible her mama had given to her some years ago, pages worn and glossed over several times in moments of doubt and crisis. The frame that held a happy family. Her parents standing together, Maggie just getting ready to go to college on one side. Her on the other, blonde hair tied with a blue ribbon as she smiled at the camera timed to take a picture. Shawn between the two girls, gangly arms wrapped around them.

But Shawn was dead now, never to half tease her and be half series about shooting the boys that came around the farm. Her mama was dead and there was something so wrong about that. Her mama who'd always have a word of advice or simply a shoulder open for a good cry.

Someday her father would be gone. Maggie too.

Beth just hoped she would get to go before them.

* * *

Daryl would kill for a smoke about now. They'd have to start making runs soon, as good as the farm was they could always use more. More, more, more. He sucks in a breath of fresh air, a hint of chill to it as winter grew closer. They were digging a grave now, soon to bury the body in an unmarked grave and move on. Probably not Dale though. Daryl had a feeling he wasn't welcome anywhere near the man or his RV anymore.

He watched from his makeshift camp as the others moved about. Moving day, as they packed up their shit and moved into the farmhouse.

Not him though. He didn't like enclosed spaces and would prefer his camp. 'Sides, he wasn't so sure he was welcome there either.

He knew killing Randall needed to be done. Good lord they'd voted on it. But it was one thing to say it and another thing entirely to go through with it, he supposed.

The only time he felt any real doubt was just after Dale came charging in demanding to know who killed Randall, the moment he saw a glint of satisfaction on Shane's face. So damn pleased the problem was taken care of.

He shook it out of his mind, watching as Rick moved so silently into the barn. Anybody who wasn't watching like he was would think nothing of it but Daryl saw it. The caution in his steps, the way his hand held onto his knife as though ready to pull it at a moment's notice. Using the same discreet movement he made his way across the farm undetected until he reached the barn where he lingered quietly outside the doors. Rick was just dropping the burlap sack back over Randall's face, relief obvious in his tired features.

"Did that the second time I had to kill him."

To his credit Rick doesn't flinch or show any outward signs of being startled. Instead he pinches his brow and stands slowly, putting his knife away and staring at the body for another moment before giving Daryl his full attention.

"You wanna know how he turned? No bites or scratches."

Daryl stares at the body and thinks of the near sleepless night he just had. "I've got a pretty good idea."

Rick nods. "Jenner, back at the CDC told me. Told me we'd all…" Deep breath. "We're… we're all infected. We turn when we die." He pauses for a moment and then takes a long look at the body. "I didn't know for sure until now."

"Jesus." Daryl thinks of Rick's boy dying on that bed, only to come back like Sophia did…

He shakes his head and glances at the body once more. He's only surprised when Rick speaks up. "You okay?"

He shrugs, automatic response coming out. "Mhmm."

The other man's look is skeptical but luckily he lets it go. They both get out of the way when T-dog and Andrea come for the body, the room suddenly tense and heavy. Daryl hates it, wonders if that's how the house would be like if he forced his way to one of its corners. Doesn't matter, he thinks almost fondly of his camp as he makes his way back to his setup. He'll need to get it ready for the winter. Insulate his tent and reinforce it. Maybe find some scrap wood and make a simple structure around it, keep some of the wind away.

He grabs his bow, ready to do some hunting while the others bury the body. It was a hunch, years of training that told him to turn around at that moment. That's when Hershel's youngest, the suicidal wisp of a thing emerged from behind the barn, big owl eyes staring at the white bandage around her wrist as she stumbled back to the main house.

_Shit._

* * *

After the mornings commotion and things had settled down did she decide to get back on her feet. She'd gotten dressed and had herself a breakfast before preparing for the big move in day. She couldn't really lift much and when she offered to help get lunch started the others had shook their heads and smiled, failing to keep their voices low when Beth left the room. "Just a lot of knives in here… you know?"

And so she spent a mournful morning cleaning up Shawn's old bedroom. Steeling herself inside as she slowly put things away. Boxes and boxes being sent up to the attic. She wondered vaguely if Lori would have a boy and someday, _someday _that boy would fit her dead brother's clothes. If he would like Shawn's old sports trophies or model cars.

It hurt too much to think of now and maybe that's why she didn't save the items for Carl. Eventually, though, she wanted to unpack these boxes she carefully loaded up today.

When she finished sweeping she went downstairs, hoping maybe for an ice cold glass of water before remembering ice was a delicacy now. So was fresh water for most so she poured her glass gratefully, taking long sips before Patricia stumbled into the kitchen, arms full of blankets brought in from Rick's camp to be washed properly.

She shot Beth a sympathetic smile, eyes lingering on her wrist before motioning outside. "Jimmy was looking for you. You're daddy's been keeping him busy."

The younger girl nodded, setting her glass in the sink before going out into the yard. The RV had been brought over, parked just beside the stairs where her daddy would've thrown a fit over dead grass just months ago.

"Lookin' for someone?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin, hand held over her racing heart. She looked up to see Andrea atop the RV, gun at the ready as she looked down at Beth.

"J-Jimmy." She stuttered once she managed to regain her breath.

The other blonde nodded her head. "Behind the barn, I think."

She smiled and waved goodbye, purposely using her uninjured wrist. She made her way towards the structure in dread. The place she once cherished as a part of her home, a part of her, was now stained with death and decay. She'd never be able to go in there again without remembering her rotting family and friends stumbling out of its doors.

Luckily Andrea was getting better at her lookout, because Jimmy was behind the barn and not inside when she got there.

He was cleaning out some old buckets, humming quietly to himself as he stacked the dry ones on an old bookcase that had been there since Beth could walk. She cleared her throat and he glanced up halfheartedly, dropping the buckets and rushing over when he realized it was her.

His arms wrapped around her, stronger than they were when they had been in high school, he pulled her in close. "I tried to see you but your old man kept giving me chores."

"I know." She mumbled into his shirt, hands stiff at her side, unsure what to do with them. Color flooded her checks, a mixture of all sorts of elements. The first time she felt the heat of the sun in so long, Jimmy holding her so close, the walk to the barn from the house. She was painfully out of shape after months of being locked up in the house. Even before the arrival of the new group she'd been rarely out in the fields to do even the simplest of chores. Not without an escort to make sure none of the sick peop- walkers- snuck up on her. Her jobs had been mostly in the safety of the house since the outbreak.

Gone was the girl who once walked for hours a day, be it through the small town or in the woods or even around her home with her friends and later Jimmy himself. A simple outing with her boyfriend that her mama and father could observe from a distance and later have Shawn tease her for.

She was now winded by the simple trek to the barn and it scared her, _terrified her. _If you couldn't fight in this world (she couldn't) and you couldn't run (or walk a short distance) you were screwed. Doesn't matter if you once sang choir in church or had straight A's. You were as good as dead.

Jimmy pulled away from her, smile gone and frown holding steady. "What were you thinking Beth?"

"Hmm?" She mumbled, missing his warmth.

"Suicide is a sin! You could've gone to hell for it!"

She blinked, looking up at him and remembering when she'd searched for him out in the pews of church from her spot in the choir, standing beside his own Ma and Pa a lifetime ago. He'd always looked so handsome in his Sunday best after they started going out. She hadn't noticed him much before he'd came stuttering at her locker one Tuesday, asking her if she'd like to go with him to the school dance.

_"We went out_ _for three_ _months and now I'm married to him_?"

She looked at him now and wished to say something, anything that would make him see where her mind had been. How afraid she was. How afraid she is. How things like church and hell seemed kind of… irrelevant when there was a possibility of being eaten alive, ripped apart, just around the corner. Or worse, having to watch such a fate happen to loved ones.

She didn't say anything and he interpreted and accepted her silence as something other than its emptiness. He glanced back at the buckets and scratched the back of his head. "I need to be feeding the animals. You wanna sit together at dinner?" His shyness had returned and she nodded, not able to catch his eyes. He grabbed the pails and left her to finish his chores, leaving her in the cool shade of the barn.

She stood for several moments, head and wrist pounding to her heartbeat. Feeling the slightest bit lightheaded she took a seat in the dirt, taking a deep breath and looking out in the fields.

Just as she had with Andrea, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the doors of the barn open wider and somebody moving around inside.

She held still, knowing it would be appropriate to leave or make her presence known in that moment.

It was her tiredness, her shyness, that made her keep quiet and wait for whoever it was to finish whatever they were doing and leave. There was rustling inside, things moving around and what sounded like a sigh.

"Did that the second time I had to kill him."

* * *

Minutes after both of them leave she finally stands up. The sickness she felt earlier is back tenfold and all she wants to do is go back to bed. She'll be damned though, it's her kitchen and she'll help with lunch whether they like it or not.

She drags her feet, boots kicking up dirt as she takes her time walking back to the house. Without realizing it she holds onto her wrist, eyeing it and wondering what would've happened if she pressed just a little harder. Would she have killed her own sister? A pregnant mother?

_"You can't avoid it."_

"_We're… we're all infected. We turn when we die."_

Lunch. She would help make the lunch meant to feed, what? Fifteen people. She would help make dinner too, and she would do her best to live as long as she could. The inevitable she would push for as long as she could. That was her resolve and she clung to it tightly, to live each day one at a time.

Feeling the burn of eyes on her she looks up from her wrist, eyes dancing across the yard as the last of the old camp is packed and brought in.

It's gone before she can pinpoint it and slowly she drops her arm, making her way back inside. It was going to be a full house.


End file.
